Darkest Before Dawn
by Beloved-the-Fool
Summary: Set immediately following Beat the Devil, this scene is a continuance of that episode. The ending of that one never felt right to me. In my head, it went more like this. And so it goes...


_**A/N: This one-shot is set post-ep following Beat the Devil. That episode is one of my favourites, but the ending always bothered me. It's one of the few times I was actually disappointed in Foster. I had gotten used to Cal behaving in disappointing ways but was unaccustomed to being disappointed in Gillian, which just made me feel it that much more keenly. I'm so annoyed with her all over again each time I watch it. To that end, I wrote a fix.**_

* * *

_"Fancy a quick bite?"_

_"Thanks. I've got…work."_

_"Ok. Another time then."_

_'Yeah. Another time. I'm glad you're ok."_

_"Night, then."_

_"Night."_

* * *

Why had she done that?

Why had she said no to him?

He _needed_ her. He had come to her and asked for her. He had needed her. She _knew_ he needed her, and she said no. She turned him away right when he needed her most. You didn't have to be a psychologist to see that he was traumatized and that he was in desperate need of the comfort and reassurance of his most trusted friend. And she had shot him down.

_Why_ had she done that? He would _never_ have done that to her.

Had never.

Every time she needed him, he was there. Even when it cost him. Even when it meant he had to cancel plans. Even when it meant he had to forego his own comforts. Even when it meant he'd catch thirty-one flavours of hell from his wife, back when he still had one. And even when Gillian herself didn't realize just how badly she needed him. Like that night on the balcony after the Samantha Burch case, the little girl who was kidnapped by her psychiatrist. The case had reopened still-healing wounds for Gillian. Cal found her grieving anew that night over the loss of Sophie. When she told him she was okay, that he could go, she really thought both of those things were true. Or, at least, she wanted them to be.

But he knew. He saw. And he stayed.

They hadn't said much; there wasn't much to say. She cried a little and stared out over the twinkling lights of the city with soft, hitching breaths misting in the cold night air. He stood beside her and let her cry, hand resting sympathetically on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze now and again. He stared out over the city, too and didn't try to offer idle, useless words that wouldn't comfort no matter how well-intentioned. What he gave her instead was his calm and steady presence, his solid and persistent strength and support. He was her fortress. It was priceless. It was perfect. It was exactly what she had needed. It reminded her why he was her best friend.

So why now – on a day when Cal had been tortured for hours on end, a day when he had died repeatedly and been forced to dig his own grave – when he came to her shaken and off-center and in need of her to just be with him so he didn't have to be afraid alone, why did she say no?

Two answers.

There were two answers to that question, and she didn't like either of them because she didn't come off well in either one.

Shame and jealousy.

Shame.

_"I could have saved you some grief,"_ she said to him tonight. That was an understatement! He could have died tonight. _Had_ died, in fact. Repeatedly. Gillian shuddered and hugged herself as cold gooseflesh trailed down her spine. Cal could be dead right now and all because she didn't see what he saw in Martin.

_Didn't see_ or _wouldn't see_?

And there it was: the green-eyed monster.

Jealousy.

Gillian had been convinced that Cal was obsessing on Helen and that was why he was "seeing" all manner of evil in Martin. She believed Cal was letting his personal feelings cloud his professional judgment.

And because she was convinced of that, she allowed _her_ personal feelings – her jealousy - to cloud _her_ professional judgment.

Pot? Kettle. Oh, I see you two have met.

And then when Cal admitted to her that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he still felt something for Helen, that green-eyed monster reared its ugly, little head again and caused her to say no to Cal right when he needed her most...to be his calm and steady presence, his solid, persistent strength and support, his fortress. To be exactly what he needed. His best friend.

Gillian grabbed her jacket and ran out the door.

* * *

He was just coming out of his office and heading for the elevator.

"Hey, you," she said. "If that offer to grab a bite still stands…" She trailed off as she fell into step beside him, her hand coming to rest on the back of his shoulder as they moved toward the elevator.

"Yeah, absolutely. I was thinking Thai. You good with that?" Cal asked, pressing the button to call the lift.

"Thai sounds great. That little place we love, just around the corner from here?" Cal nodded as the doors whispered open and they stepped inside, both leaning side-by-side with their backs against the far wall.

They began their descent in silence. After a few floors, Cal spoke.

"Thought you had work. What changed your mind?" he asked without looking in her direction. He didn't want to read anything into her answer.

"I had a word with the boss lady," Gillian replied to their distorted reflections in the polished metal doors. "Told her how it was gonna be. Stood up to her. Put her in her place."

Gillian didn't need to look at Cal. She could feel his smile, and it made her smile in response.

"Oh, really?"

"You'd have been proud," she assured him.

"Impressive," he told her. "I hear she's a real ball-buster, that one."

"I've got tough balls," Gillian laughed.

Cal made a show of looking south. "Oh, I say. Never knew that about you. Learn something new every day."

"And anyway," Gillian continued. She turned to him now, fixing him with an earnest gaze and laying a hand on his arm as the elevator car settled at their stop and the doors slid open, "You'd have done the same for me."

They exited the lift and - in their perfectly natural way - ended up arm-in-arm and soul-to-soul as they headed for the car. "What, stand up to my boss for you?" Cal asked. "Never! That guy's a total wanker. Absolutely miserable sod, and I'm scared to death of him. 'Fraid you're on your own if it comes to that, luv."

* * *

Months later, when Gillian thinks back on that night, she briefly recalls the shame and the jealousy and how she felt like a failure of a friend for saying no to Cal and letting him down in his hour of need. But what she thinks about most is the two of them gorging themselves sick on Thai food, talking about everything and nothing until the other patrons were long gone and the patient, indulgent staff reached the outer limits of their patience and indulgence.

She recalls the haunted look behind Cal's eyes that said he was still scared and didn't want to be alone but couldn't quite bring himself to say so. She had known that Emily was with Zoe for the week, so Gillian invited herself to Cal's house for a movie. "If you're up for it, that is. I'll watch anything. Host's choice."

She recalls that he pretended he was indulging her when he accepted, but she didn't miss the gratitude he didn't conceal behind the bravado.

She recalls curling up together on his sofa and watching old Film-Noir movies like Gaslight and The Third Man. Cal even made popcorn for them.

Then she recalls how the movies kept playing long after Cal stopped paying attention, long after his stare had gone glassy and distant, tired and beyond weary. She held one of his hands in both of hers; and from time to time, he would flex his hand softly against hers, as if to remind himself that she was still there. Then he would turn his face to hers and look at her with those hollow-man, haunted eyes and she would ache. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and he leaned against her for a few beats before he turned away again and pretended to watch the film.

It's always darkest before the dawn; so the saying goes. She recalls how it was just before dawn when she looked down at Cal's face as he finally slept – though not well – brow drawn into tight lines and shoulders tense against her legs. His head was cradled on her lap, and she lightly stroked his worried brow with her thumb, willing away his fear and tension. She recalls seeing the sun come up through Cal's windows as she watched her best friend struggle through his darkest night.

And she was glad he wasn't alone.

She had no regret.


End file.
